“Nonsense,” he said as he looked her over from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, her body warming under his gaze. “I find you perfectly acceptable.”
Acceptable wasn’t exactly a compliment, though more appropriate coming from an employer standing beside five impressionable nieces.
“Come along, Miss Claywell.” Delia linked her arm with Althea’s and directed her into the dining room as Melcombe picked up Winifred to carry her to her seat.
Suspicion settled in her stomach that there was more to her joining them for supper, but Althea couldn’t imagine what it would be, so she decided to settle in and enjoy the evening as she’d done since she arrived. The only difference, when supper ended tonight, she’d not be alone with Lord Melcombe enjoying tea, which was certainly for the best.
Chapter Sixteen
PerhapshavingDelia’sassistancewasn’t such a bad thing. After Mrs. Wilson had told him of Miss Claywell requesting a tray and how Delia had signaled for her to deny the request, Preston still feared that Miss Claywell wouldn’t join them. Yet, she was now seated at the table, where she belonged, and he knew Delia was the one who’d convinced her to come down.
Though the children kept referring to their feast, the dinner was no more elaborate than what they usually enjoyed. However, the Twelfth Night cake did sit in the center of the table and Winifred was the one most anxious for it to be cut. Just beyond were two crowns of paper and painted gold, made by the children, just as he’d made when he was a child.
The cake had not changed over the years and was covered in white frosting and decorated with delicate figures made of sugar paste. Another, much larger cake was in the kitchens, which his servants would cut into and enjoy, and two would be allowed to forgo their duties for the remainder of the night and order the others about. They looked forward to cutting into the cake as much as Winifred did.
It wasn’t thefeastthat had kept the kitchens busy today, but the making and decorating of the cakes. The servants would also have their own celebration, all gathered round to share a meal and the cake, as was tradition. Their celebration would begin as soon as Preston, his family, and Miss Claywell retreated from the dining room. The table would be cleared, tea would be delivered to the parlor, and they’d not see another servant that night unless there was an emergency.
“How did you celebrate Twelfth Night, Miss Claywell?” Lila asked.
“We didn’t. Not really,” Miss Claywell admitted. “We honored special occasions, but never with parties, or special cakes.”
Preston’s family had celebrated every holiday with as much enjoyment as possible, and his brother had continued the tradition. They never left their home, though they were often invited to parties and feasts. As with his parents, Preston preferred to spend the night with family, especially since he’d missed many celebrations while he was on the Continent, and he was determined to make certain the traditions continued for his nieces.
As the girls told Miss Claywell stories of the past, Preston sat back, watched, and listened. And, as he did every night, simply admired Miss Claywell and noted how well she fit into his family.
He needed to make her fall in love with him, or at least like him enough so that when he did manage to state his intentions, she’d agree to be his wife.
Except he planned on telling her the truth tonight, after the children had gone to bed. Was it possible to make her fall in love in an evening?
As the footmen cleared the table, Winifred began to squirm in her seat. “It’s now time for the cake.” She grinned.
“Why is this cake so important?” Miss Claywell asked.
“Because I could be a king or a queen and rule the night,” Winifred announced.
Miss Claywell turned to Preston, a question in her eyes.
Did she not know the importance of a Twelfth Night cake? He assumed everyone knew.
“The person who gets the slice with the bean is king for the night and the person who finds a pea is queen for the night,” Delia explained. “Last year Matilda was king, and Mother was queen,” she added with sadness. “With so few men at the table, it is more likely a female will be king.”
“What if Lord Melcombe receives the pea? Would he then be queen?” Miss Claywell asked in a teasing manner.
“No.” Winifred giggled. “He’d switch with the girl who got the bean, and they’d rule as king and queen.”
“I bet you want to be queen, don’t you?” Miss Claywell teased.
“I would be the best queen,” Winifred declared.
“You simply want to order us about,” Matilda grumbled good-naturedly.
“Yes, I do,” Winifred answered with no shame whatsoever.
Preston leaned forward. “Shall we cut into it to see who will be king and queen for the night?”
Delia stood. “I will Uncle Preston. It should fall to me since Mother is no longer here.”
It was the tradition for the lady of the house to cut the cake, but it broke his heart to hear the sadness in Delia’s tone. There would be more moments like this and probably several over a lifetime. He’d experienced such after he lost his parents.
